


And Gold

by allourheroes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, Pre-Hobbit, Rare Pair, gold - Freeform, greed - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To bask in indulgence. (The warnings can wait.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palpalou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palpalou/gifts).



> This took me far too long to write (this pairing!), but I actually did a tiny bit of research. It's a mix of book canon and movie canon, but hopefully set far enough in the past that no one is offended.

"Thror, son of Dain, King Under the Mountain," Thranduil addresses, but there is no respect to it.

Thror, proud dwarf that he is, puffs up at the perceived and purposeful slight. He looks up to Thranduil with the hardness of the stone his people were supposedly carved from. "To what do I owe the _honor_ of an Elf-king's visit?"

Thranduil only raises an eyebrow at the sarcasm in Thror's tone. He bends down to belittle the king further, "I believe it was your counselors that called upon the kings of Middle-Earth to see your shiny new gem. And so I am here."

The Dwarf-king's hand tightens into a fist and it is then that Thranduil's attention is brought to the ring on Thror's finger. It kindles greed in the Dwarf-king's heart, and in his own. It is unfair that a dwarf, so fond of shiny baubles, can possess objects of so much power with so little regard for what they mean.

"Show me your treasures, then," Thranduil instructs, as if he does not care.

Overeager with the thought of his gold, his material superiority, Thror does so. He leads the Elvenking to a room glittering with gold and jewels and greed and pride. Thror watches Thranduil's expression as he takes in the sight.

"Say something, would you?" he says, at last.

Thranduil is pleased with the outburst. "It is...impressive, I suppose." He runs his fingers over the lip of a golden chalice. "To one so small."

Thror has turned red with anger, but Thranduil is swift, standing before him in the blink of an eye. The Elvenking touches the jewelry adorning the dwarf's beard--it is beginning to grey, to _silver_ , underneath the gems and metalwork.

The Dwarf-king raises a hand to push Thranduil away but the elf looms ever taller.

"You believe you can swat me away?" Thranduil questions. "I have lived longer than Durin's line and I will be around long after you have all died out. And yet you possess a ring of power. You possess the Arkenstone." He lets go of the dwarf and turns away.

It is the obviousness of his envy that fans the flames of possession in Thror. Surrounded by all his gold and treasures, there is still something in this room he could take. The elf's crown is unconvincingly simple, his fingers covered in large uncut stones on simple bands of silver and the king himself gleaming like a gem. "Aye," he says, and he circles the Elvenking.

The elf's face twitches in anger and he adjusts his crown of flowers. It is springtime and his kingdom is beautiful, but it is not filled with gold. The greed that blossoms in his heart is unlike anything in the woodland realm he rules. The dwarf, however, has a lust for all things, that Thranduil can see clearly. Thranduil can see benefit in taking advantage of his desires.

"I suppose we could come to some sort of agreement?" Thranduil speaks calmly, one eyebrow raised. He is already shedding his robes, his nonchalance a lie as he thinks of the dwarf's gold-covered fingers on him.

Thror drinks in the sight and is overcome by it, the pale skin beneath Thranduil's elven finery glows. He cannot help himself as he is drawn closer. His breath stutters as the elf lays himself across dwarven riches, nothing between flesh and gold. It is symbolic, in his mind, the other king among his treasures.

Thranduil leans forward, his lips parted, so close their breaths mingle. "What power do you possess, Dwarf-king?" His slim, delicate fingers work off the dwarf's clothes without Thror even aware of the movements.

The dwarf places a hand on Thranduil's bare hip and the Elvenking shudders with excitement at the touch of skin-warmed metal.

The elf grasps Thror by his strange, rounded ears, once he has stripped him, trails his fingertips over earrings and then through the jeweled beads in Thror's hair. The dwarves were generally not an attractive race to Thranduil, but he found himself quite pleased to have the stout, dwarf body attempting to cover his own. The feel of precious metal smooth where it runs up his chest. The dwarf's fingers catch on the silver ring pierced through his nipple. Of course the dwarf enjoys this light ornamentation of his body and hands covet him as he covets the treasure surrounding him.

The dwarf's thick fingers are rough and clumsy, but Thranduil arches beneath the touch nonetheless. The preparation is not quite enough, but the Dwarf-king's enthusiasm amuses him and he spreads his legs like a welcome (like a trap).

Thror makes greedy little noises as he presses himself into the elf's body, palms the elf's cock, the bands of his rings sliding against the sensitive flesh.

Thranduil feels it, that ring of power, the surge of electricity it brings. He hisses and Thror's teeth skim over his nipple, bite at it, as the dwarf's free hand ghosts over the ring on the other. Thranduil shifts himself against Thror's body, moves on the dwarf's cock almost lazily. He is drowning in indulgence. The dwarf in him is adding to these pleasures more than he had expected as despite the other king's unskilled ministration, he fucks him with the determination to possess and Thranduil quite enjoys it.

He keens wantonly as Thror fucks him into the pile of gold, the coins scattering to the ground as Thror only fucks him harder.

Thranduil's fingers twine in the Dwarf-king's hair and a callused hand brings him to completion. Thror's thrusts stutter and Thranduil feels the dwarf spilling into him and it is messy and glorious.

He basks in the afterglow for only a few moments--nothing at all to an elf--before he pushes the dwarf off of him.

Thror speaks now, slightly breathless, "What were the conditions of this agreement?" He is unashamed of his nudity, perhaps even proud.

Thranduil dresses as if his current disheveled state is meaningless. "Do not concern yourself, young dwarf. Those will be handled later."

The Dwarf-king wishes to argue, but he has tired himself in his excitement. "Aye," he says again, but he is unsure as to what he is agreeing.


End file.
